iyi 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



S]ielf,-K3-£^ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Songs in all Seasons 



BY 



JAMES B.'KENYON 



I J!!L V '325 




BOSTON 

CUPPLES, UPHAM AND COMPANY 

1885 






Copyright, 
By CuPi'LEs, Upham & Co. 

1S84-. 



ELECTROTVPED 
BY C. J. PETERS AND SON,. BOSTON. 



iixsjcvip^tixrn. 



Thou whose fond eyes in sleep were never sealed, 
When love's stern ways were spread before thy feet — 
Thou who didst hope and pray, and watch and shield. 
When death's dusk wings against my windows beat — 
Take, O my mother, these poor broken sounds 
Of singing ; and while in their dizzy rounds 
Of careless pleasure, men may heed not me 
Nor my small pipe, yet praise shall come from thee. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Miscellaneous Poems. 

A Maid of Sicily 9 

In Arcadia 12 

The King is Dying 15 

When Clover Blooims 17 

A Roman Queen iQ 

Song of the North Wind 22 

The Re-Awakening 25 

A Lover's Vesper-Song 27 

Hesper 28 

My Lady 3° 

Rondeau • • 32 

The Present 33 

The Mohawk 3^ 

Morning 3^ 

Nightfall 4° 

The Old Story 43 

Estranged 45 

A Crushed Rose 47 

Evensong 49 

Song of the Spring 5° 

A Summer Day 52 

An Autumn Morning 54 

The Wanderer 5^ 

Unchangeable 59 

Nova Vita 61 

Evening at Cape Ann 63 

Pax Mortis ^5 

Requiescat 67 

5 



6 CONTENTS. 

Miscellaneous Poems. 

Isabel 68 

The Difference 69 

The Last Joy ji 

Ballads. 

Katie Leigh 75 

An Autumn Ballad 82 

Nora 87 

A Hundred Years 91 

A Ballad of Death 94 

The Tyrian's Memory 99 

Sonnets. 

Cleopatra to Antony 107 

Romeo to Juliet 108 

Syrinx 109 

Pan Ill 

Rizpah 112 

Vox DOLORIS 114 

The Angel of Night . 116 

A City Cry , 118 

The Prophet's End 119 

Parting 120 

Sundered 121 

The Dream 122 

Joy in Sorrow 123 

Edmund Spenser 124 

Longfellow 125 

When I Have Lived My Life 127 

Patience 129 

Homesick 130 

Though He Slay Me, Yet Will I Trust in Him . 131 

Blind 132 

A Poet's Grave 134 

Hagar 136 

Grapes of Eshcol 137 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



Songs in all Seasons. 



A MAID OF SICILY. 

O HE heard the waves creep up the sand ; 

Her hair, by roving sea-winds blown, 
And careless of the prisoning band, 
Down fluttered to the azure zone 
Girt lightly round her perfect form. 
And clasped beneath her bosom warm 
Which like twin lilies shone. 

The dew gleamed on her sandalled feet ; 
Her clinging robe around her trailed ; 
Her eyes with morning light were sweet ; 
And on her brow, that flushed and paled. 
As love and fear passed o'er her face, 
Was throned a rare and virgin grace. 
Such as earth's dawn first hailed. 

9 



10 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Her face was seaward turned ; her eyes 

Looked southward, where the amber light 
Was mixed with purple in the skies, 
And one fair hand, to shade her sight, 

Against her chaste young brow was raised ; 
And so she stood, and seaward gazed 
Across the waters wide and bright. 

She saw the level sunrays burn 

Along the midsea's heaving breast ; 
She saw the circling heavens spurn 
The utmost billow's tossing crest 
Where, on the blue horizon's rim, 
A galley's sails rose, white and dim, 
And all her blood leaped with unrest. 

She knows that sail ; love's eyes are keen ; 

She knows yon dancing bark is his ; 
From distant coasts where he has been. 
From Cyprus, Tyre, and Tripolis, 
Her lover brings the alien freight 
She prizes not ; to those who wait 
More precious is love's first warm kiss. 



A MAID OF SICILY. II 

He homeward brings the costly dyes 

The Roman's love, and nard, and myrrh, 
And unguents which the Emperor buys, 
And silks, and spice, and fruits which were 
Sun-steeped on far Phoenician hills ; 
But not of these she recks ; love fills 
Alone the happy heart of her. 

So let her watch, while clearer rise 

The sails which she has waited long; 
The sun climbs higher up the skies ; 

The sea-wind greets her, salt and strong ; 
Her robe from one white shoulder slips ; 
Her breast is bare ; and from her lips 
Half tremble little waifs of song. 



12 



IN ARCADIA. 

TIP from yon myrtle valley incense curls, 

Blue in the balmy morning ; barefoot girls, 
With silvery laughter bubbling, like clear rills, 
Forth from their dewy lips, trip up the hills, 
Brushing the twinkling jewels from the grass, 
That scarcely bends beneath them as they pass. 
Bright robes, that half reveal their budding 

charms, 
Flow lightly round them ; and their dimpled 

arms, 
That bear in woven baskets fruits and flowers. 
Glow in the sunlight. Yonder are the bowers 
Of Ceres, to whose shrine these offerings 
Of field and grove each happy maiden brings. 
And hither also in the smiling morn 
Come goodly youths with braided ears of corn. 



IN ARCADIA. 



13 



And stems of purple grapes and pomegranates, 
And shining berries, olives, figs, and dates. 
Now let the dance begin upon the green, 
And while the sound of music drifts between 
The pleached branches of the leafy wood, 
Waking sweet echoes in the solitude, 
Let twining hands, light feet, and songs and 

mirth 
Be joined, in Ceres' praise, to gifts of earth. 
And hark ! from height to height the shepherds 

call; 
Adown the hill the laughing waterfall 
Leaps to the plain ; the bees begin to hum, 
And in the glen the partridge beats his drum. 
In shady dells, where well the crystal springs. 
The naiad laves her limbs and softly sings, 
While overhead, from out the oak's thick screen. 
The amorous dryad leans to view the scene. 
Nor dares to stir a leaf from place, for fear 
She sink into the wave and disappear. 
Still round the shrine of Ceres, maze on maze, 
The dancers featly foot, and chant her praise ; 



14 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

The incense upward floats amid the trees 
That o'er them stretch their emerald canopies ; 
Still from the heights the shepherds blithely call 
Their bleating flocks ; the jocund waterfall, 
Flashing the golden sunlight back again, 
Still gambols down to seek the amber plain, 
And spread abroad its waters clear and cool, 
That mimic heaven in an azure pool, 
Nigh whose fringed marge a drowsy dragon-fly 
Upon a lily-leaf sways dreamily, 
And Pan, 'mid rushes and rank water-weeds, 
To shape some sweeter pipe, still plucks the 
reeds. 



15 



THE KING IS DYING. 

pOOL, stand back, the king is dying, 
Give him what little air remains ; 
See you not how his pulse is flying? 

Hear you not how he gasps and strains 
To catch one other stertorous breath ? 
God ! how he labors ! yes, this is death ! 

Blow up the fire — his feet are cold ; 

Ay, though a king, he cannot buy 
One briefest moment with all his gold ; 

His hour has come, and he must die : 
Withered and wrinkled, and old and gray, 
The king fares out on the common way. 

Light the tapers ; he 's almost gone ; 

Stir, you fool, 't is past the hour 
To cower and cringe, and flatter and fawn - 

The thing lying there is shorn of power ; 



1 6 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Henceforth the lips of the king are dumb : 
Bring up your ghostly viaticum. 

Absolve his soul ; need enough, God wot ! 

Mumble and sprinkle and do your shriving ; 
Yet, methinks, here and there shall be left a 
blot, 

Hideously foul, despite your striving;- 
Nor purfled quilts, nor pillows of lace, 
Can relieve the guilt in that grim old face. 

Soft ! stand back — it is his last ; 

Get hence, your priestly craft is o'er ; 
For him the pomp of the world is past — 

The king that was is king no more : 
Let the bells be rung, let the mass be said, 
And the king's heir know that the king is dead. 



17 



WHEN CLOVER BLOOMS. 

Al 7HEN clover blooms in the meadows, 
And the happy south winds blow ; 
When under the leafy shadows 
The singing waters flow — 

Then come to me ; as you pass 
I shall hear your feet in the grass, 
And my heart shall awake and leap 
F'rom its cool, dark couch of sleep, 
And shall thrill again, as of old. 
Ere its long rest under the mould — 
When clover blooms. 

Deem not that I shall not waken ; 

I shall know, my love, it is you ; 
I shall feel the tall grass shaken, 

I shall hear the drops of the dew 



1 8 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

That scatter before your feet ; 
I shall smell the perfume sweet 
Of the red rose that you wear, 
As of old, in your sunny hair ; 
Deem not that I shall not know 
It is your light feet that go 
'Mid clover blooms. 

O love, the years have parted — 

The long, long years ! — our ways ; 
You have gone with the merry-hearted 
These many and many days, 
And I with that grim guest 
Who loveth the silence best. 
* But come to me — I shall wait 

For your coming, soon or late, 
For, soon or late, I know, 
You shall come to my rest below 
The clover blooms. 



19 



A ROMAN QUEEN. 

IMPERIOUS on her ebon throne 

She sits, a queen, in languid ease ; 
Her lustrous locks are loosely blown 

Back from her brow by some stray breeze 
Lost in that vast, bright hall of state, 
Where thronging suppliants fear and wait. 

A dreamy fragrance, fine and rare, 
Of sandal, nard and precious gum, 

With balmy sweetness fills the air, 
And mingles with the incense from 

A quaint and costly azure urn. 

Where Indian spices ever burn. 

A jewelled serpent, wrought in gold. 
Coils round her white and naked arm ; 



20 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Her purple tunic, backward rolled, 
Reveals the full and regal charm 
Of her fair neck, and ivory breast. 
Half veiled beneath her broidered vest. 

Her eyelids droop upon her eyes, 
And curtained by the silken lash. 

The smouldering fire that in them lies 
Is scarcely seen, save when a flash, 

Like that which lights the polar snow, 

Gleams from the dusky depths below. 

Her proud, cold lips are lightly wreathed 
In smiles, as if with high disdain 

She scorns to show her hate is sheathed. 
And that he sues not all in vain 

For favors of her haughty will. 

Or e'en love's rarer guerdon still. 

He stands before her white and fierce ; 

His bosom with swift passion shakes ; 
His burning vision seems to pierce 

Her very soul ; he pleads ; he wakes 



A ROMAN QUEEN. 21 

Within her heart a wild desire, 

That flames and mounts like sudden fire. 

A subtle glance, a whispered word, 
A waving of her perfumed hand. 

He feels his secret prayer is heard — 
That she will know and understand ; 

The queen is hid, and for a space 

A love-swayed woman holds her place. 

He bows, he leans toward the throne ; 

Her breath is warm upon his cheek ; 
She murmurs, and in every tone 

He hears the love she dares not speak ; 
What though the surging hundreds press ? 
No eye shall see her swift caress. 

Let him beware ; he toys with fate ; 

False as the glittering serpent is 
On her white arm, her love to hate 

Shall change eftsoons ; then every kiss 
She gives him with her fickle breath 
Shall be surcharged with secret death. 



22 



SONG OF THE NORTH WIND. 

IT ARK to the voice of me ! 

Hear thou the singing 
Of him who has never 
Been paid for his song ! 
This is the choice of me, 
Still to go ringing 
The rhymes that forever 
Are surly and strong. 

Know'st thou the regions cold 
Whence I have hasted ? 
Know'st thou the way I take 
Over the earth ? 



SONG OF THE NORTH WIND. ^ 23 

Still Stand the legions old — 
Ice-kings unwasted — 
Fending the frigid lake 
Where I had birth. 

Frost-banded fountains 
Snow-fed from far peaks ; 
Firths of the polar sea 
Rigid as stone ; 
Shag-bearded mountains ; 
Deeps that no star seeks ; 
Strange lights that solar be — 
These I have known. 

Men fear the breath of me ; 

Sorrow and anguish, 

Famine and fever 

Follow my path. 

I am the death of thee ; 

I make thee languish ; 

Swiftly I sever 

Love's ties in my wrath. 



24 



SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Chains cannot hold me, 
Gyves cannot bind me, 
Bolts cannot lock me. 
Floods cannot drown ! 
Fly — and I fold thee ; 
Hide — and I find thee; 
Cry — and I mock thee, 
Howling thee down ! 



25 



THE RE-AWAKENING. 

A VOICE upon the hillside wakes, 
A rill begins to laugh and leap, 
And nature starts, and stirs, and breaks 
The silence of her long, white sleep. 

The soft, warm coverlet of snow 
That veils her lovely limbs and face 

She lightly flings aside, and so 
Arises in her vast, nude grace. 



But now her bright new robe of green 
Is o'er her gleaming shoulders thrown, 

And many a stream of silver sheen 
Is girt about her like a zone. 



26 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Oh, she is fair ; her cheeks and brow 
Are softly bathed in April rain ; 

And, standing under yon green bough, 
She hears the robin flute again. 

Old memories kindle in her breast ; 

Her eyes look forth through floating tears 
Tears not of sorrow ; she is blessed ; 

God gives her youth through all the years. 

God gives her youth with each new spring ; 

Her winter's long, mysterious swound 
Is but her life's refashioning — 

A healing of time's every wound. 

O soul, lift up thy voice and sing ; 

The seasons utter forth this truth — 
Thy winter past, behold ! one spring, 

Thou'lt wake, clothed in immortal youth. 



27 



A LOVER'S VESPER SONG. 

'T'HE blue bends down to kiss the hills, 

The hills rise up to kiss the blue, 
They clasp and kiss at their own sweet wills 
Love, why not I and you ? 

The sea leaps forward to the land, 

The land hugs close the amorous sea ; 

They meet and marry on the strand — 
Love, why not thus meet me ? 

Look off, and mark the fervid west, 

How night stoops down to fold the day. 

How day leans on night's throbbing breast — 
Sweet love, shall we delay ? 

The hills and sky, the land and sea. 
The day and darkness teach us this, — 

That you must wed, dear love, with me, 
Or life's best guerdon miss. 



28 



HESPER. 

/^ STAR of the pale-bosomed night, 

Let thy smile re-illumine the world ; 
Like a garment the darkness clothes valley and 

height, 
In the dim-caverned west dies the opaline light, 
And the pinions of sleep are unfurled. 

Come forth from thy tent in yon cloud. 
That thy beauty may gladden the skies ; 

See, the mountains lie folded in mist like a 
shroud, 

And the river that loves thee is singing aloud, 
And the summer wind seeks thee with sighs. 

In her chamber, 'mid curtains of white, 
My lady lies silent in sleep ; 



HESPER. 



29 



O star, shed thy balm through the strokes of 

the night, 
Charm the hours, as they go, that her dreams 
may be bright. 
And the hush of the darkness be deep. 

And lo ! when, the gates of the dawn 

Shall unfold, and the shepherdess leads 
Her white flocks to feed on some high dewy 

lawn, 
And the mists and the visions of night are with- 
drawn. 
And the rivulet sings through the meads, — 

Then fair shall my lady appear. 

And sweet as the breath of the May ; 

And her heart shall be light as the heart of the 
year. 

And shall throb into song, as she pauses to hear 
The sound of the wakening day. 



30 



MY LADY. 

A S shine from yonder dusky skies 

The stars that fret the pallid night, 
So shine my lady's heavenly eyes, 
To fill the world with tender light. 

Her voice is sweet as tinkling rills 
That meet and mingle musically, 

And trip together down the hills, 
To lose themselves within the sea. 

Not sweeter is the breath of June, 
That stirs her garments lovingly. 

Than are the words which, like a tune, 
Fall from her lips melodiously. 

Her hair is like a golden mesh 

Wherein the tangled sunshine lies, 



MY LADY. 31 

And like primroses, fair and fresh, 
Her cheeks the dewy morning dyes. 

As leans the lily on its stalk, ' 

When lightly falls the wooing shower. 

So leans she from the garden walk, 
To catch the scent of some rare flower. 

The earth is fairer since she is. 
And nearer leans the happy sky ; 

And half his terrors death shall miss, 
Because my lady, too, must die. 



32 



RONDEAU. 

VKTUEN I am dead, and all life's griefs at last 

Forever and forevermore are past, 
Though still the green earth wheels its ceaseless 

round, 
While I sleep sweetly in the cool, sweet ground, 
I shall not reck if time move slow or fast. 

But, O my love, the deathless love thou hast 
Shall move like light above me in the vast 
Dim void of death, where breaks nor light nor 

sound — 
When I am dead. 

I shall not reck though darkness overcast 
The summer sky, or the wild, winter blast 
Vex the heaped snows above my lowly mound. 
For I shall lie in silence softly wound. 
Soothed by the memory of what thou wast — 
When I am dead. 



33 



THE PRESENT. 

V\THAT matter we have suffered, dear, and 
borne 
A thousand pangs, when we are lying low ? 
What matter that we drank the lees of scorn, 
And wept beneath our griefs, as we weep 
now, 
When from our dust shall spring the matted 
thorn ? 

What matter, dear, that you and I have kept 
Hearts sweet and tender through ungracious 
years, 
When in the sepulcher we shall have slept 
A thousand moons, and dried are Memory's 
tears, 
And Love sings by the tomb where once she 
wept ? 



34 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

I know when we are gone the flowers will 
bloom, 
And in their seasons leaves will go and come, 
And nesting birds will sing above our tomb ; 
But still, what matter? We shall both be 
dumb. 
And locked in silence and eternal gloom. 

What matter, dear, though spring and summer 
wane, 

And winter come with chilling sleet and snow, 
Or on our graves the flowers weep in rain. 

Or on our graves the flowers forget to blow. 
What matter, dear ? — we cannot then feel pain. 

Should others love as you and I have loved. 
What matter? — we shall mingle hearts in 
dust ; 
Should others prove, as you and I have proved, 
The faith of men, nor forfeit Heaven's high 
trust. 
What matter ? — they shall move as we have 
moved. 



THE PRESENT. 



35 



Come, come away ! O, now we will not mourn, 
For that which is not ; and the past is past ; 

Though faded joys shall nevermore return, 
Neither shall faded griefs, the first or last. 

And time's true heir is of the present born. 

O love, what may be shall not cloud the heart, 

Nor steal joy from the present, which is ours ; 

Now, now we '11 clasp, and laugh at death, nor 

part. 

But make these, which we have, most golden 

hours. 

And when the Dread Voice calls, together start. 



36 



THE MOHAWK. 

T^HOU windest down between the hills, 

Past many a gleaming lawn and lea, 
The tribute of a thousand rills 
To bear toward the distant sea. 

'Twixt level fields of wheat and corn, 
By many a cool and quiet wood, 

Past founts where singing streams are born, 
Thou rollest down thy silver flood. 

Within thy wave the shadows play ; 

Along thy banks the blossoms bloom ; 
And to and fro, through all the day, 

The swallows sweep from sun to gloom. 



THE MOHAWK. 37 

Unchanged thy voice ; still sweet and low 
Thou murmurest to the leaves and grass 

And happy winds that o'er thee blow 
And lightly kiss thee as they pass. 

The lordly Hudson waits for thee ; 

With throbbing heart and smihng face, 
He greets his bride right royally, 

And folds her in his wide embrace. 

And thus espoused, ye sweetly flow 
Down to the boundless azure sea, 

As loving souls together go 
Into God's vast eternity. 



38 



MORNING. 

T^HE mist-born shapes of dawn about them 

wrap 
Their great gray cloaks and silently depart. 
The dew-drops, one by one, slip off the spray, 
As from the fullness of his mighty heart 
The sun doth kiss earth's glittering tears away, 
And, smiling, fling bright jewels in her lap. 
Across the fields the cow-boy's merry call 
Comes ringing, and the milkmaid's early song. 
Mixed with the lowing of the distant kine. 
The morning-glories on the mouldered wall 
Are open, bathing in the golden shine. 
And turning from light Zephyr's amorous arms, 
Bare all their bosoms to the roving bee. 
The meadow brooks bound cheerily along 
And kiss the timid flowers as they flee, 
Leaving them weeping at a trust betrayed. 



MORNING. 



39 



Pale, sad-eyed Phosphor in the east hath died ; 
Dimmed by sweet morning's fuller, fairer 

charms, 
Hath drooped and faded like a love-sick maid. 
Along the river-shallows herons wade, 
And on the wave the water-lilies ride, 
And by the shore the silent plover steals, 
Or thither comes a thirsty wren to drink. 
Ah me, how glad the morn ! The breath of day 
Brings to the wakened world its healing balm, 
And softly breathes the fevered sleep away 
From some wan sufferer's dim and hollow eyes. 
Up from the village mellow murmurs rise. 
And from yon hillside, where the white flocks 

stray, 
A single distant bell, now faint, now clear, 
Blends its sweet cadence with the morning calm. 
Life bubbles up and overflows its brink ; 
In every heart hope sings, and love is dear 
Where'er o'er earth the morning angel flies. 



40 



NIGHTFALL. 

pvESCEND, O dewy twilight, o'er the hills, 
With kisses soft and cool ; the whip-poor- 
wills, 
Deep-buried in the bosom of the vale, 
Wait for thy coming, and the young moon, pale 
And dimly crescent, o'er the vapory height 
Climbs slowly up, wreathed in her own faint 

light. 
The voices of the day are quenched in sleep ; 
Along the dusky slopes the peaceful sheep 
Feed 'mid the shadows, and anon is heard. 
Waking to sweet complaint some drowsy bird, 
The mellow tinkling of the leader's bell. 
Upon the gloom now softly sink and swell 
The cricket's slender vespers, and afar, 
As if to mock eve's solitary star, 



NIGHTFALL. 



41 



Or echo back the watch-dog's distant howl, 
From yon lone wood the hooting of the owl 
Deepens the hush and loneliness of night. 
Upon the lawn, the roses, red and white, 
Sift their light petals o'er the beaded grass. 
And on the poppied breezes, as they pass. 
Breathe out the musky se'crets of their hearts. 
Now on his quest the wheeling bat departs 
With beating wings, and countless beetles boom 
Headlong across the fields. The purple gloom 
Thickens upon the landscape ; in the skies 
The tardy stars come out ; and murmurs rise 
From streams that through the curtained dark- 
ness flow. 
Fretting among their pebbles as they go. 
In the still orchards, and the meadows damp, 
The fitful firefly kindles his small lamp, 
While o'er the marish comes the ceaseless sound 
Of piping voices. From the dew-drenched 

ground 
A subtle incense rises, and the air 
Is laden with a perfume keen and rare. 



42 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Low in the west the embers of the day 
Die darkly down ; a mist hangs, chill and gray, 
Above the silent river's sleepy tide, 
Whereon the folded water-lilies ride. 
And the tall flags, stirred by the curling waves. 
Whisper together. Where the current laves 
The trailing branches of yon rustling tree, 
Floats a thin sound of airy revelry, 
And in a dizzy maze the singing gnats 
Dance slowly off across the reedy flats. 
How beautiful is the dark ! the gradual calm 
Steals into all the blood, and like a balm 
The crystal drops of night wide o'er the land 
Are scattered, as by some invisible hand. 
Welcome, O dark ! Tired heart, thou too art 

blest ; 
After the weary day, night brings thee rest ; 
After the wildering tumult, strife, and heat. 
The coolness comes, and silence soft and sweet. 



43 



THE OLD STORY. 

HROUGH tangled grass the rill sobbed by ; 
We saw eve's red sun glow ; 
The peaceful herds were browsing nigh ; 
The village slept below. 



T 



A trailing ivy, like a wreath, 
Drooped down upon her hair, 

And she who, blushing, stood beneath 
Knew she was very fair. 

The pomp of the declining day. 

The beauty of the place. 
Around us like a halo lay, 

And shone upon her face. 



44 



SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

We lingered there with many a sigh, 
And many a whispered vow ; 

I saw the tear steal from her eye, 
I saw her clouded brow. 

Afar we heard the minster bell ; 

Slowly the day went out ; 
Then, as the twilight round us fell, 

I told her all my doubt. 

Like sunshine shot through April skies, 
Her smile flashed through her tears, 

And while I dried her beauteous eyes. 
She kissed away my fears. 

O fickle tears ! O faithless vows ! 

O fond, delusive trust ! 
Love weeping goes with hidden brows, 

And wings low in the dust. 



45 



ESTRANGED. 

TTHEY met, and all the world was fair ; 
Fair, too, were they, as any pair 

Of birds of paradise ; 
They met, and never meant to part, 
But oh ! time chills the warmest heart. 

And dims the brightest eyes. 

They met, and love betwixt them born, 
From morn to dark, from dark to morn, 

Walked with them through the land ; 
O, blithely sped the singing hours. 
Till, lured to pluck the star-eyed flowers. 

Each loosed the other's hand. 

Then love took flight with sudden fright, 
And now they wander through the night. 



46 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Blind with their helpless tears ; 
They grope amid the thorns and sand, 
But cannot touch each other's hand 

Through all the lonely years. 



47 



A CRUSHED ROSE. 

\^HEN beauty, with her magic wand. 

Touched thy young petals through and 
through, 
A loveher robe by thee was donned 

Than e'er the bright Belphoebe knew. 
The bee sipped at thy ruby mouth. 

And swift, sweet blushes did o'erplay 
Thy perfect features, when the south 

Wind kissed thy nightly tears away. 
But low thou liest now in dust, 

To happier roses but a scorn, 
The puppet of each passing gust. 

Made fellow of by baser born. 
O sweet decay ! O fitting type 

Of virtue from its place down hurled — 



48 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Of grace discrowned by a too-ripe, 
Voluptuous day in this mad world ! 

Thou wast the plaything of an hour ; 
Awhile thou wast some lover's pride ; 

Then lightly, for another flower. 

Thy heart was crushed and thrown aside. 



49 



EVENSONG. 

/^VER the old, tired world the soothing night 
Sinks softly down ; still faintly glows the 
west ; 
The eager birds now cease their joyous flight, 

And seek the loving shelter of the nest : 
O heart, fret not ; pause in the fading light ; 
This evening- time thou too shalt have thy 
rest. 

Fieldward the cattle thrid their dewy way ; 
The evening star hangs in the quiet sky : 
Athwart the leas the shadows long and gray 
Stretch out like arms, and prone and darkling 
lie 
Upon the unresting brooks ; gone is the day ; 
O restless heart, thine evening, too, draws 
niofh. 



50 



SONG OF THE SPRING. 

OLUE lies the light upon the hills ; 

Keen scents of earth steal freshly up, 
Mixed with the winy air that fills 
The valley like a mighty cup. 



Warm winds, blown hither from yon wold, 
Come laden with the breath of flowers, 

And songs of brooks are blithely trolled 
Through all the slumb'rous, sunlit hours. 

From far afield, yet sweet and clear 
Above the mingled sounds of spring, 

Through all the mellow day I hear 
The swinging sower lightly sing. 



SONG OF THE SPRING. 

Like flakes of newly fallen snow, 
The blossoms flutter from the trees ; 

And like far music, faint and low, 
I hear the murmur of the bees. 

Ah soul ! how good it is to be ! 

The pulses of the very sod 
Awake, and stir mysteriously 

Beneath the quickening breath of God. 

There is no death ; the years shall bring 
Thee nearer to some viewless goal, 

Where bloom perennial flowers of spring, 
And singing streams forever roll. 



51 



52 



A SUMMER DAY. 

T^HE sunshine lies athwart yon emerald bosk, 
Where blithesome runnels dance from out 
the dusk 
Of greenery, spired like an eastern mosque, 
And o'er the fields the winds steal, faint with 
musk. 

The sun, midway upon his tireless march. 
Eyes languidly the green earth's sleepy face, 

But the fond sky, with arms in dreamy arch, 
Stoops down to take her in its soft embrace. 

Lo ! lying yonder in an azure swoon. 

Where earth and sky in misty outlines merge, 

I see the narrow, curved, white summer moon, 
Pale and uncertain, o'er yon western verge. 



A SUMMER DAY. 



53 



Dim is the circuit of the far-off hills, 

From whose light crests the thin, blue forests 
fail 
In distance, and beyond the sunlight fills 

The white-winged clouds that o'er the heavens 
sail. 

The yearning willow bends each leafy spray, 
And softly dips it in the sliding wave ; 

And on yon pebbly marge, across the way, 
Two little wrens their soft, brown pinions 
lave. 

A slumberous silence steeps the summer noon. 
Save the cicada's piping, shrill and long, 

And now and then a hautboy's drowsy tune. 
In fitful snatches of an old love-song. 

O day of dreams, thou art not wholly lost ; 

When winter winds shall wax through sleety 
rain. 
And all the flowers lie dead beneath the frost, 

In memory I shall live thee o'er again. 



54 



AN AUTUMN MORNING. 



MOW o'er yon hill the glad Aurora comes, 
Blushing from rosy cheeks to finger tips, 

And o'er the meadow, through the mist, 
she slips 
Into the forest where the partridge drums. 
The humble bee above the holly hums ; 

The willow in the river softly dips ; 

Across the field the merry milkmaid trips, 
And on her shining pail she gently thrums 

An old love-ditty, wondering the while 

If Robin Gray will meet her at the stile. 
The lowing cattle o'er the sweet, late grass, 

With rattling hoofs press onward to the rill, 
Brushing the glittering dewdrops as they pass. 

Till at the bubbling stream they drink their 
fill. 



AN AUTUMN MORNING. 



55 



II. 
Scarcely a bird-song in the sunlit air, 

Save now and then a mournful chickadee, 
Weeping its heart away in melody, 
Cries out the burden that it cannot bear. 
The forest trees upon the upland wear 
A gayer livery, and the eye can see. 
As higher up the sun climbs lazily. 
The shocks of corn stacked on the hillside fair. 
The creaking wain rolls slowly toward the field, 
Where tawny pumpkins doze beneath the 

sun ; 
Beyond, the patient cattle, one by one. 
Stand waiting still their treasured sweets to 
yield, 
Looking with wondering eyes ; the maid 

the while 
Kisses her Robin by the meadow stile. 



56 



THE WANDERER. 

IT AVE you seen our little one ? 

Yesterday 
In our midst she sweetly shone, 
Radiant, star-like ; there were none 
But did love her ; ah, they say 
That we 've lost her — that she 's gone 
Far away. 

You would know her on the street ; 

Shining hair, 
Eyes of blue, and dainty feet — 
You would know her should you meet 
Our lost darling anywhere. 
God's own saints are not more sweet, 

Nor more fair. 



THE WANDERER. 

We have sought her to and fro, 

But in vain ; 
Ah ! if she could only know 
How our hearts with tears o'erflow, 
She would come to us again ; 
She would take away our woe, 

Heal our pain ! 

Shall we ever see her more ? — 

Shining head. 
Laughing lips and eyes of yore ? 
Shall we have her as before,— 
Our lost bird that lightly spread 
The swift, viewless wings she wore, 

And so fled ? 

Ay, we shall not lose her quite ; 

By and by. 
When our eyes have better sight, 
Growino^ used to larcfer li^ht, 
Her fair path we shall descry. 
God will guide our feet aright. 

Graciously. ♦ 



57 



58 



SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

We shall find her some rare day, 

Soon or late ; 
We shall find her at her play, 
Blithe as when she fled away ; 
So we will not wail our fate : 
Though our heads and hearts be gray, 

We can wait. 



59 



UNCHANGEABLE. 

DEHOLD the light upon the purple hill ; 

Behold the undimmed glory of the sky ; 
Look ! as of old there singing goes the rill — 
Love, all things do not die. 

There gleams as bright an emerald in the grass, 
As in those years when you and I were 
young ; 

The restless birds that ever come and pass 
Sing with as sweet a tongue. 

The flowers that spring on yonder sunny slope 
Are just as fair as flowers used to be ; 

The world hath changed not ! we have lost our 
hope, 
And we have changed, love, we. 



6o SO.YGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Have lost our hope ? nay, love, our hope is 
found ; 
Secure from change, secure from tempests 
wild, 
Forevermore our own, beneath the ground, 
O love, we keep our child. 



6i 



NOVA VITA. 

" That which thou sowest is not quickened except it die." 

1 Cor. XV. 36. 

r\ DAINTY babe, thou wast too fair to die ; 

What couklst thou have to do with writhing 
worms, 
With dank, dull clods, and the grave's mystery? 
What dim affinity with these blind germs, 
Which nature, when the time is ripe, shall 

change 
To waving corn, didst thou possess ? O strange 
And dark to mortal vision are the ways 
Of Infinite Wisdom. Need'st thou, too, descend 
Into the earth's cold bosom with the maize, 
That fostering nature unto thee may lend 



62 SOA^GS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Her subtlest powers of light and warmth and 

dew, 
To make thee blossom into life anew ? 
What sweeter charms, what graces rich and 

rare, 
Unknown to human love, shalt thou assume ? 
O, than thou wast can there be ought more fair ? 
Thy face was like a flower in its bloom, 
Delicate, pure and joyous, and thine eyes 
Deeper and bluer than yon deep blue skies. 
Lo ! I must fare along the weary years, 
Lonely and hopeless, seeing through my tears 
Only alow green mound of summer grass, 
Where once I hid thee in the peaceful keep 
Of night and silence, who shall rock thy deep 
Cool cradle, till I too one day shall pass 
Death's border unawares, and fall on sleep. 



e?, 



EVENING AT CAPE ANN. 

TJUGE rocks, hurled upward by the angry sea, 
Like Titan warriors slain in some fierce 
fray, 
Lie scattered yonder where the billows 
gray 
Leap up and smite each other wrathfully. 

Athwart the wet wide sands the long waves 
flow, 
Tossing and tumbling in tumultuous flight ; 
And far away, through gloom of gathering 
night. 
The shadowy ships on into darkness go. 

Hark ! o'er the troubled ocean's ceaseless roar, 
The lonely crying of the whip-poor-will 
Sounds mournfully along the wooded hill 

That lifts its solemn brow above the shore. 



64 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Night reigns upon the sea and on the land, 

Supreme, save where yon beacon shines 

afar, 
As though, ere its last plunge, a falling star 

Had been arrested by some mighty hand, 

And there forever o'er the restless deep 

Poised as a shining hope, while to and fro 
The home-bound vessels through the dark- 
ness go, 
With precious freight for those who watch and 
weep. 

Ah me ! one eventide, across the main 

Some silent ship shall come, I know not 

whence. 
From these dim shores of life to bear me 
hence. 
And nevermore to landward fare again. 

Well, be it so ; let evening take its flight ; 
To sail that sea I will not hesitate, 
Nor question if the time be soon or late, 

If so God's beacon shines across the night. 



65 



PAX MORTIS. 

T^HE lady lies clothed all in white ; 

Her yellow ringlets fall 
Like throbbing rays of amber light 
Along the sombre pall. 

Her shapely limbs, like marble cold, 

Gleam through the drapery 
That clasps her form in many a fold. 

To veil her chastity. 

Her lips, pale blighted buds of May, 
Shall bloom no more, and lo ! 

How swiftly shall dissolve away 
Her bosom's drifted snow. 

The light hath left her sweet blue eyes ; 

The silver voice is mute, — 
Its music fled ; and now she lies 

Dumb as a shattered lute. 



66 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Her hands are crossed upon her breast ; 

O, is this death or sleep ? 
And does she only take her rest, 

While stars their vigils keep ? 

The lights burn softly in their place ; 

A perfume fills the air ; 
The silence lies upon her face, 

And on her yellow hair. 

Her two white feet are still and cold ; 

Her two cold cheeks are white ; 
But lying under warm soft mould, 

She '11 feel no chill of night. 

The winged moments come and go ; 

The lady doth not reck ; 
A single rose, as white as snow. 

Lies on her sweet white neck. 

The silent stars wheel over her ; 

The watchers watch in vain ; 
Though dawn shall come she will not stir, 

Nor wake nor weep again. 



67 



REQUIESCAT. 

CHE sleeps, and may her peaceful rest 

Unbroken be ; 
The flowers that nod above her breast 

She cannot see ; 
To warbling bird, to purling brook, 

Deaf are her ears ; 
Sealed is the volume of the book 

Of her brief years. 
So let her rest ; she will not heed 

The tales they tell ; 
She recks not now of word or deed — 

She slumbers well. 



6S 



ISABEL. 

A ^7 HEN bloom the fairest flowers of spring, 

And on the brook the blossom floats ; 
When, ere the robin takes the wing, 

He flutes his sweetest notes ; 
I miss thee in the ancient haunt, 

Where long ago we loved to dwell — 
Where still the tall, white lilies flaunt, 

Like those we plucked, sweet Isabel. 

But when the northern winds blow cool, 

And white the moon gleams o'er the mere, 
I linger by the darkened pool. 

And drop for thee a tear ; 
Or when behind the sobbing pines 

The moon looks low o'er hill and fell, 
Kneel where the river inward winds, 

And pray for thee, my Isabel. 



69 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

/^NCE more glad Nature's pulse awakes, 

And Earth upheaves her bounteous breast ; 
On bye and croft the drifted flakes 
Of blossoms lie ; a soft wind shakes 

The clouds from out the west. 
Spring wears to-day the same sweet grace 

Which long — ah, long! — ago she wore, 
When, in this dear familiar place, 
I used to greet a fair young face 

I know will come no more. 

The windflowers prank the wooded ways ; 

The bloodroots shed their paly light ; 
O, sweet the tender vernal days. 
The fresh green fields, the soft blue haze. 

And sweet each vernal night ! 



70 



SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Yet come no joys like those that were, 

No voices Uke one voice of yore ; 
The hours are full of cark and care, 
Of heavy pain, of longing prayer, 
For she will come no more. 



71 



THE LAST JOY. 

r^ HEART, make thou not any moan ; 

The years are gone, thy time hath passed 
Yet thou may St count this joy thine own — 
Thou shalt find peace at last, at last. 

Behold ! thy weary journeying 

Draws to its close ! the solemn night 

Shall to thee rest and respite bring, 
And slumber sweetly veil thy sight. 

This comfort still remains to thee, 

Though all things else have fled away — 

Thou shalt at length sleep quietly, 

When night hath closed the long, sad day. 



BALLADS, 



75 



KATIE LEIGH. 

y MET, one summer morning, 

When the dew lay on the grass, 
Sweet Katie of the meadows, 

A bonny, winsome lass ; 
And my heart rose up exultant. 

Yet startled and afraid. 
To meet again those eyes whose glance 

A spell upon it laid. 

Lightly she tripped to meet me 

Across the twinkling grass. 
While the flowers blushed and trembled 

And brightened to see her pass ; 
I thought for a brief, dim instant 

To swiftly haste away. 
But as I doubted, she called my name, 

And I could not choose but stay. 



76 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

A bird in the hedgerow carolled 

To its mate in the maple-tree, 
And as I looked into Katie's eyes, 

My heart throbbed tremblingly ; 
For now they shone with merriment, 

And now grew dark and shy. 
Till all their azure depths were changed 

Like a vexed April sky. 

I said, *' What is it, Katie ? " 

In a voice strange and dismayed ; 
*' My pet lamb, John, has slipped its leash. 

And to yon wood has strayed ; 
I can hear the tinkling of its bell. 

But dare not venture there — " 
And a question then dawned in her eyes 

That made her look thrice fair. 

" And you wish me to find it, Katie } " 
" Oh, John, if you only would ! " 

And she nearer moved with her brown hands 
clasped 
In an eager attitude. 



KATIE LEIGH. // 

" Well, wait for a few moments here," 

I said, with an awkward bow. 
And yet, as I turned, my heart rose up 

Blither and bolder now. 

Why was it ? A new light in her eyes. 

Or a new light in the day ? — 
Ah me ! I had long loved Katie, 

And oft, in my bashful way, 
Had lingered, hearing her low sweet voice, 

For hours at the garden gate. 
Longing to say what I never could say. 

Though my heart cried, " Haste, ere too 
late ! " 

I think that Katie knew my mind, 

And knew the thing I would say, 
For when I would stammer and try to speak, 

She would smile and look away ; 
Then, alas for my sudden courage, 

And the hope too brief and bright ! 
The stars grew dark, and the blind world 
reeled — 

I could only say, *' Good night ! " 



78 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Thus ever I put my doom aside, 

Till two long years had fled, 
And still within my heart I bore 

Its secret yet unsaid ; 
But when we met, that dewy morn, 

Under the sunny skies, 
My heart grew bright with a nameless light 

That shone from her sweet blue eyes. 

I vowed as I led the lost lamb back 

Through the tangled wood and vine, 
That now I would speak my love to her, 

And ask her to be mine : 
She stood by the hedge, nigh the maple-tree, 

In her beauty and her grace, 
With the sunlight still in her azure eyes. 

And the bloom of the morn on her face. 

" O, thank you, John ! " she said, and smiled 
A smile like the summer bright, 

And holding her hand for the hempen leash. 
In mine I clasped it tight ; 



KATIE LEIGH. 79 

" Katie," I said, " I want to speak 
What you have known so long — 

I love you, Katie ; tell me, sweet, 
Do I do my heart a wrong ? 

** For two long years I 've borne my love, 

Nor ever dared to speak — " 
And looking down, I saw a flush 

Had crept o'er either cheek ; 
"Do you love me, Katie ? speak," I said, 

" May I call this dear hand mine ? " 
With a deeper flush she hid her face. 

And whispered, "I am thine." 

So the sun never shone so goldenly down. 

And the sky was never so blue. 
And the flowers were never so bright, as we 
walked 

Back over the morning dew ; 
The birds never sang so sweetly before, 

Such a morn I had never seen ; 
And the sumac berries were never so red, 

And the grass was never so green. 



80 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

So the blue-bells merrily rang that day, 

And the sumac's torches burned, 
And the red rose changed to a deeper red, 

And the white rose whiter turned ; 
The lily hung its graceful head, 

And blushed at the kiss of morn, 
While Psyche laughed, and the winged Boy 

Shrilled the blithe marriage horn. 

When the leaves on the trees were tipped with 
flame, 

And corn hung full on the ear ; 
When the red-cheeked apples fell from the 
boughs. 

And the harvest was ripe of the year ; 
When aftermath had nigh its growth 

In fields that summer had shorn, 
Katie redeemed the promise she made 

In the meadow that golden morn. 

The years have gone with a noiseless tread, 
And summer has come again. 



KATIE LEIGH. gj 

The birds are singing in all the fields, 
And daisies are white in the lane ; 

The leaves are thick on the maple-tree, 
The corn's silk tassels wave. 

And mellow flecks of sunshine play 
In the grass on Katie's grave. 



82 



AN AUTUMN BALLAD. 

DERHAPS I loved him better than the oth- 
ers — who shall tell ? 

But he was always a good boy and made me 
love him well ; 

He was not like my Robert, nor was he like my 
Will, 

His ways were always different — so steady, 
true, and still. 

I mind me how he left me on that shining au- 
tumn day ; 

The corn was shocked upon the hill, where the 
yellow pumpkins lay ; 

The apples fell from loaded boughs, the fields 
were green and fair. 

And plenty, peace, and happiness breathed in 
the earth and air. 



AN AUTUMN BALLAD. ^l 

He Stood against the mellow light within the 

open door ; 
His shadow wavered through my tears along the 

sunny floor, 
To where I sat and sobbed, as if my lonely 

heart would break, 
For he was last to leave me — he had waited 

for my sake. 

His eyes were dim and tearful, and his voice 

was broken, slow ; 
" It is my duty, mother," he said, "that I should 

go; 
The government has need of men ; I go to fill 

my place ; 
'Tis better I should go to death than stay and 

win disgrace." 

He turned and left me, for he could not speak 

another word, 
But as he passed the garden gate a stifled sob I 

heard. 



84 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

In strange bewilderment I rose and looked upon 

the day ; 
There in the sunlight danced the rill by which 

he used to play. 

I heard the sound of marching feet, I heard the 

bugle blow ; 
And through my open door I saw the soldiers 

come and go ; 
A face I knew, a face I loved, flashed by me, 

still and white. 
And passed, though then I knew it not, forever 

from my sight. 

What need to tell the weary while of anxious 

nights and days 
That followed ? On the peaceful hills I saw the 

cattle graze ; 
The misty sunshine, warm and soft, lay on the 

golden leaf, 
But not on that dark heart of mine, so bowed 

and full of srrief. 



AN AUTUMN BALLAD. 85 

It came full soon, the cruel blow, ere scarce a 
month was gone, 

And he, my boy, my best beloved, whom I had 
leaned upon. 

Forth from the carnage and the strife, the mur- 
derous blare and heat. 

Was brought, the war's first offering, and laid 
before my feet. 

I could not look on his dead face, I could not 
moan nor weep. 

When, wrapped within his country's flag, they 
bore him to his sleep ; 

There, day and night, beside his grave goes rip- 
pling down the rill, 

And there the last late sunbeam lingers on the 
pleasant hill. 

My Robert and my Will came back ; they are 
good boys to me. 

But somehow in my life there is a dreary va- 
cancy ; 



S6 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

I miss his step, I miss his voice, his quiet ways 

I miss, 
And daily on my lips it seems I yet must feel 

his kiss. 

The seasons go their wonted round ; through all 

the autumn days. 
The dreamy earth lies lightly swathed within an 

amber haze ; 
But never come such days to me as when, in that 

old year. 
The world was beautiful to me because my boy 

was here. 

Perhaps I loved him better than the others — 

who shall tell .'* 
But he was always a good boy and made me love 

him well ; 
And since I know that he has gone to come 

again no more, 
It seems that he is nearer far, and dearer than 

before. 



37 



NORA. 

O HE stands in the light of the setting sun, 
■^ Till the bright bars vanish, one by one, 

And the stars are hung in the azure dome, 
Like lamps, to guide lost spirits home. 

Thus she has watched through the weary years, 
Through moments of hope and months of tears — 

Watched at twilight pale and gray, 
While ever the slow years crept away — 

Watched and waited for one to come 
Back, over the wide wild prairie, home. 

He went when her cheek was fresh and fair. 
And the sunlight slept in her yellow hair ; 



S8 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

When her eyes were blue, and her Hps were 

red — 
As sweet a bride as was ever wed. 

But now she is old and wrinkled and gray, 
For the years have fretted her beauty away, 

And dim are her eyes that were once so blue, 
Yet her love is loyal, her heart is true. 

So she waits and waits while the sun goes down, 
And over the prairie, naked and brown. 

The shadows come stealing, big and black ; 
For he said, "Wait, Nora, till I come back," 

And he passed away through the gathering 

gloom, 
Away o'er the prairie, rich with bloom — 

Whistling he passed through the deepening 

dusk, 
Through the twihght sweet with the scent of 

musk — 



NORA. 89 

To seek the kine that had gone astray ; 
But he never returns by night or day. 

" Ah me ! Ah me ! " she softly saith, 

While her blue eyes shine with a mystic faith, 

'' He seeketh far, he seeketh yet, 

But he will come back, he will not forget." 

So day after day, as the night draws on, 
She stands and waits at her door alone — 



Waits while the sun sinks out of sight, 

And she stands alone with the vast dim nisiht. 



Ah, yes ! ah, yes ! he hath gone afar, 
For where the tremulous evening star 

Gleams like a gem o'er the heart of the west, 
He fell on sleep, on sleep and rest — 

On sleep that is sweeter than we know here, 
On rest unvexed by hope or fear. 



90 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS 

Above his lowly and lonesome grave, 

The long, strong grass and wild flowers wave, 

And the shadows of morning and evening play, 
While he slumbers the years of her waiting 
away. 

But lo ! one evening when sunset burns, 
And in patient sorrow she waits and yearns, 

Up from the shadowy earth he shall rise. 
Like an angel of light to her dying eyes, 

And shall touch her hand and say, " Love, 

come, 
Behold, the dear Christ calls us home ; " 

For the ties of love that here are riven, 
God will unite again in Heaven. 



91 



A HUNDRED YEARS. 

QHE stands beside the sylvan stream — 
The chief's one daughter, Uthe and fair - 

And, as she stands, a last late gleam 
Of light lies tangled in her hair. 

The boughs droop down above her face ; 

The grasses kiss her naked feet ; 
And one tall reed leans from its place. 

To touch her bosom warm and sweet. 

Behind her lies the quiet camp ; 

Before her the calm waters flow ; 
She sees the firefly light its lamp ; 

She hears the night-wind, faint and low. 



92 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

The sunset dies upon the hill ; 

The valley fades in deepening gloom ; 
But where she stands, her presence still 

Sheds on the shadows light and bloom. 

She looks away into the west ; 

Her eyes brim o'er with happy light ; 
A song upbubbles from her breast — 

She scarcely heeds the falling night. 

But hark ! a paddle softly dips ; 

A swift hand thrusts the leaves apart ; 
The song is hushed upon her lips, 

While sudden tumult shakes her heart. 

For lo ! he stands before her now — 

Her lover, young and strong and brave, 

Above whose dark and fearless brow 
The plumes of eagles proudly wave. 

A hated warrior's valiant son — 

Though years of feud have sundered wide 
His sire from hers — has wooed and won 

The dusky maiden for his bride. 



A HUNDRED YEARS, 93 

A clinging kiss, a passionate word, 

A lingering, doubtful look behind, 

Low pleadings that are hardly heard, 

And eyes with tears confused and blind. 

Then silent steps that do not pause ; 

Then long light dippings of an oar ; 
A boat into the darkness draws, 

And fades from sight forevermore — 

Fades and is gone : a hundred years 

Have passed since that dim summer night 

When, half in triumph, half in tears. 
These lovers vanished out of sight. 

And now beside that self-same stream. 
With many a clustering bough above, 

I lie and dream a world-old dream. 
Beneath the eyes of her I love. 



94 



A BALLAD OF DEATH. 

T HUG thy face to mine, 

I feel thy breath ; 
What breath so shrewd as thine, 

So sweet, O death ? 

Give me thy lips to kiss ; 

Like sharp old wine 
They thrill and sting with bliss - 

Those lips of thine. 

Against thy heart I press, 

O death, my lover ; 
My utter nakedness 

Thy cloak shall cover — 



A BALLAD OP DEATH. 95 

Thy cool thick cloak of grass 

And woven flowers, 
Through which no heat can pass, 

Nor frost nor showers. 

No warmth is in thy breast, 

Nor is it colder 
Than lends a pleasant rest 

To them that moulder. 

My heart from thy true heart 

Time shall not sunder ; 
We shall not lie apart, 

The dark sod under ; 

But lie in cloven clay. 

And clasp and kiss, 
Nor miss the light of day, 

Nor starlight miss. ^ 

My mouth shall cleave to thine. 
My arms shall hold thee ; 

Thy soul shall shall mix with mine. 
Thy peace enfold me. 



96 



SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

I grasp thy bony wrist, 
Nor fear nor falter ; 

Thy love shall still exist 
(Nor ever alter) 

When earthly love hath fled 
And left no traces : 

Thy tears are never shed 
On faded faces. 

Than love of earthly friends, 
What love is blinder ? 

Earth's love with hatred blends 
Thy love is kinder : 

Thy love shall still exist, 

Despite derision ; 
No dim deceitful mist 

E'er clouds thy vision, 

But thou dost see aright ; 

Thy love hath power 
To purge thine inward sight. 

From hour to hour. 



A BALLAD OF DEATH. 

Lean over ; let me touch 
Thy wan white face ; 

Thou hast such beauty, such 
High, godlike grace. 

Mine eyes thy kisses seal, 
And on me pressing 

Thy thin moist palms I feel, 
In mute caressing. 

death, I love thee, thou 

So gracious art ; 

1 lay my throbbing brow 

On thy cool heart, 

And sink beneath a flood 
Of blissful feeling, 

While into all my blood 
Thy calm is stealing. 

Who grieves to leave an earth 
Of tears and sighs. 

Of moans and hollow mirth. 
Of spite and lies } 



97 



98 



SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Not I. Make room for me ; 

My face is numb ; 
Henceforth with kissing thee 

My lips are dumb. 



99 



THE TYRIAN'S MEMORY. 



A^HAT stars were kindled in the skies, 

What blossoms bloomed, what rivers ran, 
I wis not now ; how wide the span 

Of years which dimly stretch between 
That morn I saw the big sun rise, — 

Blinking upon the dazzling sheen 
Of banners in the Grecian van, — 

And this, no tongue shall tell, I ween. 

II. 
On helm and shield, on sword and spear, 
The sun shone down exultingly ; 
No son of Tyre knew how to flee 
Before the face of any foe, 



lOO SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Nor would our women shed a tear, 

Though face to face with speechless 
woe, 
And heart to heart with misery ; 

Y ox fear a Tyrian could not know. 

III. 

There came the sound of clashing arms, 
Of catapults and falling stones, 
Of shouts, and shrieks, and stifled groans, 
While men stood on the crumbling 
wall, 
And recked not of the dire alarms, 

But saw their brave compatriots fall. 
And heard the crunching of their bones. 
Then closed with death, unheeding all. 

IV. 

I know not how the battle fared. 

Though Tyre, "the ocean queen," is dead. 
And lowly lies her crownless head. 
Amid the ashes of her pyre. 



THE TYRIAN'S MEMORY. lOI 



Few were the warriors that were spared 

The spear, the flying dart, the fire ; 
Into my heart an arrow sped — 

My eyes were closed on falHng Tyre. 



I have forgot how tenderly 

The olive ripened on the hill ; 
How sweetly, when the nights were still, 
The nightingale sang in the grove ; 
How soft the moon was on the sea. 

How low the mourning of the dove ; 
For my dead heart no memories thrill, 
Save the glad memory of my love. 



VI. 

O, like the footsteps of the morn 

Her footsteps gleamed along the street ; 
Her shining, foam-white, sandalled feet 
Fell lightly as the summer rain 



I02 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

On stones which grosser feet had worn ; 

And, but my heart so long has lain 
In ashes, it would wake and beat 

At thought of meeting her again. 

VII. 

Her hair was dark as Egypt's night ; 

Her breasts shone like twin nenuphars ; 
Her brave eyes burned like Syrian stars 
That morn she pressed her lips to mine. 
And bade me forth unto the fight ; 

My blood shot through my veins like 
wine ; 
I felt myself another Mars — 

In thew, in life, in love divine. 

VIII. 

Who knows that on the emerald zone 

Which belts the changeless azure sea 
Another city yet may be. 

More fair than Tyre t Nathless, I wis, 



THE TYRIAN'S MEMORY. 103 

Howe'er the phantom years have flown, 

The wrinkled world must ever miss 
That Tyrian maid who gave to me 

Her first, her last, her farewell kiss. 



SONNETS, 



107 



CLEOPATRA TO ANTONY. 

r^ IVE over ; let me be ; I will not feel 

The sting of your keen kisses on my lips ; 

You shall not hold one moment ev'n the tips 
Of my shut fingers, though you cry and kneel. 
My face aches, and my tired senses reel ; 

Through all my veins a drowsy poison slips ; 

My sight grows dim with gradual eclipse, 
For slumber on mine eyes has set his seal. 
Get hence ; I will no more to-night ; the bars 

Of love are placed against you now ; go while 
I hate you not, my Roman ; the sick stars 

Wax faint and pallid in the dawn's red smile. 
Look ! I am quenched in sleep, as nenuphars 

Are quenched in the broad bosom of the Nile. 



:o8 



ROMEO TO JULIET. 

T OVE, touch my mouth with kisses as with 
fire; 
Lean hard against my breast, that I may feel 
From thy warm heart its influence subtly steal 
Through all my veins ; with overmuch desire 
My spirit fainteth, and my lips suspire 

Swiftly with heavy breathings ; round me reel 
The shadows of the dark, and downward 
wheel 
The dim, far stars from heaven ; draw me nigher 
Unto thy bosom, love, for all my sense 

Of earth and time fleets from me . . . Day- 
ward flows • 
The stream of night, and into yon immense 
Blue void the slow moon fails ; hold me more 
close. 
Lest from thine arms my spirit hasten hence. 
Going that viewless way no mortal knows. 



109 



SYRINX. 

[ EAVE me to wither here by this dark pool, 
Where the wind sighs amid the shuddering 
reeds, 
And slimy things creep through the water- 
weeds. 
And snakes glide out from coverts dim and cool. 
Leave me, O Pan ; thou hast been made the 
fool 
Of thy hot love ; go where thy white flock 

feeds. 
And pipe thy ditties in the dewy meads. 
And watch the silly sheep that own thy rule. 
Get hence ; I am become a loveless thing ; 
No charms of mine shall ever tempt thee 
more ; 



no SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

No more in valleys green and echoing 

Shalt thou surprise and fright me, as of yore ; 

Go, clash thy hoofs, and make the woodlands 
ring, 
But let me wither here on this dark shore. 



Ill 



PAN. 

TT was but yesterday I saw his sheep, 

The while he led them u^d the height to 
feed, 

And heard him merrily pipe upon his reed, 
And mock the echoes from yon rocky steep ; 
'Twas yesterday I found him fast asleep. 

His flock forgot and wantoning in the mead, 

His pipe flung lightly by with idle heed, 
And shadows lying round him, cool and deep. 
But though I seek I shall not find him more, 

In dewy valley or on grassy height ; 
I listen for his piping — it is o'er, 

From out mine ears gone is the music quite ; 
There on the hill the sheep feed as before, 

But Pan, alas, has vanished from my sight ! 



112 



RIZPAH. 

OLOWN through the gusty spaces of the 
night, 
The pale clouds fleet like ghosts along the 

sky; 
A fitful wind goes moaning feebly by, 
And the faint moon, poised o'er the craggy 

height, 
Dies in its own uncertain, misty light. 

Within the hills the water-springs are dry ; 
The herbs are withered ; and the sand-wastes 
lie 
Dim, wide, and lonely to the weary sight. 
Behold ! her awful vigil she will keep 

Through the wan night as through the burn- 
ing day ; 



RIZPAH. 1 1 3 

Though all the world should sleep she will not 
sleep, 
But watch, wild-eyed and fierce, to scare away, 
As round and round, with hoarse, low cries they 
creep, 
From her dead sons the hungry beasts of 
prey. 



14 



VOX DOLORIS. 

Jerusalem, B.C., 458. 

MAY, but I loved thee so — and love thee still : 
Look, didst thou not, when thou a stranger 
wast 
In my far Babylon, the bright, the vast, 
Lead me the happy bondmaid of thy will ? 
Why wilt thou put me from thee ? What dire ill 
Have I wrought on thy heart ? I hold thee 

fast. 
And cling and cry till life's last hope is past, 
And faith grows sick with fears that scorch and 

kill. 
Is thy God cruel, that this needs must be ? 
Canst thou forget the love, the dear delight, 



yOX DOLORIS. 1 1 5 

The song, the dance, the mirth ana minstrelsy, 
Wherewith the swift days fled, too brief and 
bright ? 

Shall not our babes' sweet voices cry to thee. 
Through all the hollow watches of the night ? 



THE ANGEL OF NIGHT. 

XlyTITH dusky pinions spread, from out the 
land 
Of twilight glides the angel of the night, 
And earthward softly plumes her silent flight, 
While gathering darkness from her wings is 

fanned 
Across the cloud-world, musically and bland. 
Around her flow her garments, sprent with 

stars, 
As far away, toward the sunset bars, 
She takes her noiseless flight, and from her 

hand 
Scatters the balm of sleep on all below. 

From off her wings she winnows silver dew 



THE ANGEL OF NIGHT. Wj 

On slumbering flowers, whose aromas go 

Far in ^olian wanderings, breaking through 

Melodious silence in faint ebb and flow. 
Till fair Aurora peeps from eastern blue. 



ii8 



A CITY CRY. 

LJERE hoarsely moan the floods of human 
woe, 
And evermore, along the busy streets, 
The iron hoof of traffic loudly beats, 
And lean-faced avarice shuffles to and fro ; 
Here grudgingly the feet of mercy go 

Where gaunt and grimy squalor sits and eats 
Her bitter bread, and here, through foul re- 
treats, 
Death's noisome currents darkly ebb and flow. 
O God, of those sweet airs which blow between 
The emerald hills, let me e'er breathe ; keep 
me. 
Far from the roaring city, in thy green 
And quiet solitudes, where I may see 
The birds, the flowers, the grass, and sweetly 
lean 
My heart upon the peace and love of thee. 



119 



THE PROPHET'S END. 

DETTER to hide the weary face awhile ; 
Better to let them have it as they will ; 
They would but mock thee, scourge thee, 
harry still 
Thy tired soul ; go, cease thee from thy toil. 
Flee from these dim vain ways where millions 
moil, 
And wrangle for a bauble ; let them fill 
Each other's restless lives with strenuous 
ill — 
Thou shalt be free at last from strife and guile. 
Go to thy mother, child, and take thy sleep ; 

Go, lay thee, silent, in her cool wide arms ; 
Secure from troublous time, in her large keep 
Thou shalt lie peaceful 'mid the world's 
alarms ; 
Go, get thee to thy mother-earth, .and creep 
Into her bosom, where no evil harms. 



120 



PARTING. 

T OVE, are our lives so long that we may part 
For months and years, nor feel a pang of 

grief ? 
Or is the measure of the days so brief 
That, as they go, they leave no bitter smart 
To trace its dreary record on the heart ? 
O, unto thee is not the fallen leaf, 
The v^ithered landscape, and the rustling 
sheaf, 
Presageful of a time when we must start 
Upon a longer journey, nevermore 

To come again and clasp each other's hand. 
And look with love into each other's 
eyes ? 
Lo ! here we may not tarry long, for o'er 
Our sight a vapor gathers, and the land 
Lies wrapped in gloom descending from 
the skies. 



121 



SUNDERED. 

T SHALL not touch her face, her hands again; 
I shall not mingle her warm breath with 

mine ; 
I shall not drink again the sharp, sweet 
wine 
Of her swift kisses, for dear Love is slain. 
Yea, Love lies cold and dead ; but pallid Pain, 
Upon whose haggard cheeks the salt tears 

shine, 
Hath set upon our brows her blood-red sign 
Of thorny anguish, like the mark of Cain. 
Upon us Time hath wrought his change, for lo ! 

Not now we meet and pass, as heretofore, 
Each knowing that which none save us could 
know — 
How full of love our hearts were to the core ; 
But now across life's wide waste fields we go 
Our separate ways, to meet again no more. 



122 



THE DREAM. 

T AST night I dreamed that thou wast by my 
side, 

And thy sweet voice fell flute-like on mine 
ear, 

In accents solemn, low, yet silver-clear, 
And thou didst look upon me tender-eyed. 
Then all my passionate longing and my pride, 

All my dull pain of hopelessness and fear, 

Vanished like mist upon a mountain mere 
Which the warm sun salutes at morning-tide. 
All night my heart was full of speechless bliss, 

And thousrh thou wast less human than 
divine, 
I felt at last I nevermore should miss 

From out my life that loveliness of thine ; 
For when our souls closed in one swooning kiss, 

I knew eternally that thou wast mine. 



123 



T 



JOY IN SORROW. 
HE wan November sun is westerin 



& f 



The pale, proud year puts all her glory by ; 

Beneath her blue bare feet her vestures lie, 
And white and faint she stands a-shivering : 
And yet the world's great heart is quickening 

Beneath dead leaves and grass grown sere 
and dry, 

And through the silence of the sombre sky 
Throb swift pulsations of a forefelt spring. 
So all our sorrow hath a core of bliss ; 

Some prophecy of pleasure tempers pain 
In every heart, and through our bitterness 

Strikes a fierce joy that not a pang is vain ; 
Life hath no hidden good that life shall miss. 

For with all loss is mixed some god-like 
gain. 



124 



EDMUND SPENSER. 

O OW have the years flown since that golden 
day 
When, where the Mulla rolls her dimpling 

flood, 
Thou heardst the birds sing in the Irish 
wood, 
And Raleigh with thee on the upland lay ! 
Again through gloomy forests old and gray. 
O'er many a waste and trackless solitude, 
Whithersoe'er thy Muse's knightly mood 
May lead us in thy tale, we seem to stray. 
O master, it was not on oaten reeds 

Thou madest music for the world's delight. 
Nor yet on Pan's shrill pipe didst thou 
e'er flute ; 
To sing of courtly grace and lordly deeds. 
Of lovely Una and the Redcross Knight, 
Behold ! thou hadst Apollo's silver lute. 



125 



LONGFELLOW. 

March 24, 18S2. 

\17ITHIN the old historic house he lay, 

Quiet at last in restless heart and brain ; 
Without his chamber, the wan light did 
wane 
And the March twilight gathered, chill and gray. 
But all unheedful of the wasting day. 

He lay and slept ; and still he sleeps ; in 

vain 
The morning sun shall gild his window- 
pane — 
His soul hath fared forth on an unknown way. 
O sweetest psalmist of our Israel, 

What new glad words now thrill upon thy 
tongue ! 



126 LONGFELLOW. 

In what far country hast thou gone to dwell ? 
Through what fresh changes are thy num- 
bers rung ? 
Lo ! thou didst leave us, taking no farewell, 

And now we weep that thy last song is 
sung. 



12/ 



WHEN I HAVE LIVED MY LIFE. 

\ 17 HEN I have lived my life, and death at last 
Sucks the sweet breath from out my white 
cold lips ; 
When o'er my fixed, faint eyes the swift 
eclipse 
Of dissolution draws, and thick and fast 
The shadows no man knows crowd up the vast 
Dim vista of eternity ; when dips 
My final sun from sight, and darkness slips 
Upon me, quenching utterly the past ; 
Then while fond friends around me weep and 
pray, 
And come to kiss their last kiss, one by 
one, — ( 



128 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Ere yet hath faded quite the light of day, 

And ere my mortal sands are fully run, — 

God, grant that I may hear one dear Voice say, 
With love and tenderness, *' Well done ! 
well done ! " 



o 



PATIENCE. 

GOD, I pray thee give me quietude, 
Though it be 'mid the wrecks of broken 

years ; 
Scatter thou from mine eyes the blinding 
tears. 
And cool the burning fever in my blood. 
Lo ! I am swept away as with a flood ; 

My soul is beaten on by stormy fears ; 
I cannot see, and ever through mine ears 
Surge empty echoes of the solitude. 
O, teach me to be patient and to wait ; 

Teach me to quell that spirit in my breast 
Which irks the slow-paced hours, and cries ''too 
late ! " 
Urge on my heart this lesson — that 'twere 
best 
To suffer even to death " without the gate," 
If so my soul might enter into rest. 



I30 



HOMESICK. 

X/EA, Lord, if it could be, if it could be. 

That I might leave the weariness and pain 
Of this sad exile o'er the soundless main, 

Whose restless waters roll 'twixt me and thee ; 

If — while the day grows wan and shadowy, 
And, like a conqueror amid the slain. 
Night moves with swift proud footsteps 
o'er the plain — 

Death's sudden messenger should com^e to me 

With summons to depart, I should not go 

As one to whom the journey were a fear. 

But I should gladly leave earth's mimic show. 
And these dim ways which are so chill and 
drear, 

And 'mid green fields, where living waters flow, 
Fare homeward after many a weary year. 



131 



THOUGH HE SLAY ME, YET WILL I 
TRUST IN HIM. 

AiyHEN these hot pulses cease, O Lord, and 
all 

The fever and the strife at last are done ; 

When, for my feet, the race is well out-run, 
And, spent and weary, from the lists I fall ; 
When, deaf to passion's cry and duty's call. 

And reckless of the honors lost or won, 

I turn my forehead toward the setting sun, 
Calm and content to leave the world's rude 

brawl — 
Then, Lord, for the sweet pity which thou hast 

Of those who, heavy-laden, worn with pain, 
From out the conflict desolate and vast. 

Cry unto thee for help, nor cry in vain, . 
Grant to forget my weak and wandering past. 

And help me trust thee while my life is 
slain. 



132 



BLIND. 

'\1W'HEN first my soul into the shadows sank, 
And darkness surged upon me like a 
wave, 
I fought the blackness, as a swimmer brave 
Who, losing from his grasp the friendly plank. 
Goes struggling down through ocean's great 
gray blank. 
Then, as one buried trance-bound in a grave 
Wakes to the horror of his narrow cave, 
And shuddering in his cere-cloths, cold and 

dank. 
Strives to pierce through the void and noisome 
gloom, 
I strove to cleave the night that wrapped 
me round. 



BLIND. 133 

And cried aloud from out my living tomb. 

But now, always in solitude profound, 
I sit and wait beneath my awful doom, 

Till God's light shall break on me like a 
sound. 



134 



A POET'S GRAVE. 



A Y, grant it, friend, it is a lowly bed, 

Pranked with the daisies that he held so 
dear, 
And with the pale, pure violets nodding near. 
Like those he clasped when first they found him 

dead. 
To curious questioners let it be said : 

" He sang his songs the world paused not to 

hear. 
And now he lieth where no late, slow tear 
Can answer for the love he sought instead." 
Young ? Yes, ah, very young he was to die ; 
He had so much to live for ! His was joy 
Unspeakable to see the morning lie 
Upon the hills, and bliss without alloy 



A POET'S GRAVE. 135 

To see the sunset flush along the sky ; 

But dawn nor dusk shall wake him now — 
poor boy ! 

II. 
He loved the sunlight and he loved the rain ; 

He loved the darkness and he loved the light ; 

He loved the morning and he loved the night ; 
He loved the meadows and he loved the main. 
To see the springtime blossom he was fain, 

And winter's snows were goodly in his sight ; 

Yea, all the seasons in their rapid flight 
Brought joy to him, though not unmixed with 

pain. 
But now he lieth where the fallen leaf 

Begets no vague regret within his breast. 
And never summer-tide, however brief. 

Can mar the sweetness of his hallowed rest. 
He sleeps secure from dreams of joy or grief, 

And in his dreamless slumber he is blest. 



136 



HAGAR. 

VX/IDE wastes of sand beneath a burning 
sky; 
Far hills that shimmer in the breathless air ; 
And clumps of stunted shrubs that, here and 
there, 
With pale and parched leafage, vex the eye. 
Her bread is spent, her water-skin is dry ; 
The child's faint sobbings pierce her with 

despair ; 
Her face is hid, her fallen head is bare ; 
"Now, O my God," she crieth, "let me die." 
Hark! from the midmost heavens a deep sound: 
''What aileth thee? Rise, Hagar, fear thee 
not. 
For God hath heard the child's voice from the 
ground. 
And he will succor thee in thy sore lot." 
Then she arose, and took the lad, and found 
A crystal fountain in that desert spot. 



137 



GRAPES OF ESHCOL. 

\X70NDERING they came ; they had strange 
tales to tell 
Of purple hills and valleys half divine, 
Of amber plains which did like morning 
shine, 
And cool, clear springs which ever did upwell. 
Wistful they came ; and 'twixt them, like a bell, 
Swung downward the dark grapes, the 

goodly sign 
Of plenty in a land of oil and wine — 
The goal of rest to way-worn Israel : 
So I, a spy from realms where summer sings 
'Mid billowy fields with radiant blossoms 
starred, 



138 SONGS IN ALL SEASONS. 

Bring these the promisers of rarer things 

That wait the coming of the chosen bard — 

The shining soul who seeks Ufe's mystic springs, 
And counts no knowledge vain, no journey 
hard. 



1 



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